


Black Currants

by GwendolynGrace



Series: Blackstory [6]
Category: Alternity - A Harry Potter Alternate Universe, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter Alternity - Fandom
Genre: Blackstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, HP Alternity, RPG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus wishes to add biscuits to the family Christmas meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Currants

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2008-2012. This is one of several "Blackstory" - canon backstory about the Blacks - that I wrote while playing in the RPG game, HP Alternity. Because they predate the divergence from canon, they are also canon-compliant.

1967

There was a spot in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place where the heat of the oven and the fireplace met each other in an equally toasty blast. Regulus loved to sit in just that spot while Kreacher baked or washed the dishes or tidied. It wasn’t often he had the leisure; usually he and Sirius either took their meals in the little schoolroom at the top of the house or in the dining room with Mother and Father; other times he generally had some chore to complete for his tutors or his parents. But sometimes, when Mother was out to luncheon or tea, and Father had taken Sirius along on some errand, Regulus got to spend time alone with Kreacher.

Although it was partially underground, the sunlight streamed in the high windows and the rear door. Kreacher worked efficiently, telling stories and asking ‘Young Master Regulus’ questions, then listening carefully and attentively to the answers, no matter how ridiculous they may have sounded. Best of all, Kreacher would unfailingly follow Reg’s suggestion that fresh biscuits would make the afternoon pass more cheerfully. 

It was just such an early afternoon in December. Sirius had just turned nine and Christmas was only a week away. Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella were hosting that year, Reg knew, but he had asked Kreacher about building a gingerbread house for the parlour. 

‘Young Master knows that Mistress cares not for such frippery,’ Kreacher said immediately. 

Regulus had expected that. ‘Well, how about ginger _snaps_ , then?’ he asked. ‘Mother wouldn’t mind so much if we just made a platter of those, would she?’

The first time he’d ever tasted a ginger snap was two years ago. It had been the birthday party of a boy Regulus didn’t know, but who was around his age. The boy’s father was one of Father’s own friends. There had been some games, ice creams, and among the cakes and pies were little roundels of the ginger snaps. The sweet sugary sprinkles, the crisp, buttery crunch, and best of all, the sharp bite of the ginger combined in a way Reg never imagined possible. Ordinarily he would have stuffed himself, but Mother had reminded him on that occasion to be on his very very best behaviour, plus she had made sure that he and Sirius had had luncheon before they left for the party, so he was not hungry for more than a normal helping. Still, he wrapped three more biscuits in his napkin and stowed them in his robe pocket for later.

That night, after Mother had shut off his light and closed his bedroom door, Regulus had thrown back his coverlet and fished the napkin out of his robes. The biscuits had stained the napkin with little blots of grease and crumbled into tiny chunks. He ate the remnants of all three, meticulously picking every crumb with the tip of his finger.

Next morning, he told Mother that his favourite treat at the party had been the ginger snaps. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. ‘Fruit is more healthful,’ she said, placing a wedge of grapefruit on his plate with a flick of her wand. ‘And pastry more elegant.’

She didn’t say anything more but it was enough.

Since that occasion, Regulus had contrived to have ginger snaps for his birthday, for Sirius’s birthday, for Christmas, Easter--any celebration he could think of. Sometimes Mother let him have his request; more often not, instead putting something on the menu that made them unnecessary. But on quiet afternoons, sometimes, Kreacher would bake. And Regulus would sit in the perfect spot between the oven and the fire, and smell the buttery warmth of the biscuits, and life was good.

On this particular day, though, the biscuits had not quite finished when Kreacher raised his head from his washing up. His ears twitched in response to something Reg couldn’t hear. A split-second later, he vanished. His scrubbing brush kept swiping at the pan which until recently had held the biscuit batter. Then Regulus heard voices upstairs.

‘Find someplace to put that,’ his mother said and ‘Yes, Mistress. Oh, so shiny, Mistress. Such a token of regard,’ said Kreacher.

‘Token of gratitude, more like,’ Mother said. ‘Take it away and bring up a fresh pot of tea.’

Kreacher popped back into the kitchen. ‘Young Master must go back to his room, now,’ Kreacher told him. ‘Mistress is home.’

‘I heard,’ Regulus told him. ‘But the biscuits aren’t done.’

‘Kreacher will bring them,’ the elf offered. ‘Once Mistress has been served her tea. Biscuits must cool or they doesn’t snap,’ he pointed out, in a tone between helpful and swotty.

Reg huffed and brushed his fringe out of his eyes, but he crept quietly up the stairs. He hoped Mother wouldn’t see him as he came round the banister.

She didn’t. But when he set his foot on the first step, it creaked.

‘Regulus, whatever are you doing?’ she asked. ‘Come in here at once.’

He complied, answering her questions as best he could. A pot of tea and a steaming teacup appeared at her elbow. She lifted it to her lips and sipped, immediately sputtering as the liquid burned.

‘Kreacher!’ she demanded. The elf popped back into view, bowing low. ‘You neglected to cool it before serving. Go and gargle with boiling water.’

‘Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress,’ Kreacher answered. Without so much as a glance at Regulus, he vanished. 

Mother looked over at him, however. ‘You’re still here?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

She seemed about to say something. Her eyelids fluttered, her eyebrow rose; but then she scowled and waved an impatient hand. ‘Well, you’re dismissed. Upstairs, now. Mother’s tired.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Reg escaped to the hallway, expertly avoiding the troll’s foot umbrella stand by the foot of the stairs. He could smell something faintly smoky in the air. It reminded him of one of Father’s occasional cigars. He padded up to the first floor to see if Father and Sirius were back. There was no sound behind Father’s office door and anyway the odour was fainter here. Then, remembering his treat, he bounded up two more flights to the schoolroom. Kreacher surely had set his own tea by now, with the cooled biscuits.

But the room was empty. ‘Kreacher?’ he called tentatively.

Kreacher appeared, crunching an ice cube. ‘Master Regulus,’ he rasped, for his voice was now hoarse.

‘Are the ginger snaps cool enough to eat now?’ Reg asked, rather than demanding that they be brought upstairs.

Kreacher’s eyes brimmed. ‘Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus. The young Master heard Mistress order tea.’

‘Yes.’ Regulus nodded, confused.

‘And Master Regulus also heard Mistress tell Kreacher to gargle,’ he continued, though it looked painful to speak.

‘Yes. So?’ Reg didn’t understand. ‘But you said they had to cool, anyway.’

‘Kreacher said so, yes. But Kreacher had not yet removed them. They were burnt.’ He snapped his fingers and a plate of charred, blackened lumps quavered in his hand.

*

It was Christmas morning. Regulus climbed out of bed extra early, put his dressing gown on over his nightshirt, and knocked on Sirius’ door. He heard a muffled ‘M’coming’ from inside, though it sounded as if Sirius had still been half-asleep. But a second later, Sirius opened up, tying the belt on his dressing gown over his new pyjamas.

‘Ready?’ he asked. His hair was tousled from bed and his eyes were sleepy, and a wrinkle from the bedsheet had imprinted itself into his cheek. But he moved lightly enough as he stepped onto the landing and reached out to give Reg’s hair a scrub.

‘Don’t,’ Reg protested. 

Sirius only scoffed and pushed Reg’s head to the side before he led the way downstairs. 

‘Young men, have you any idea--’ Great-Great-Aunt Belvina’s portrait began.

‘Happy Christmas, Auntie,’ Sirius whispered back. ‘And yes. We know it’s early. We’re trying to be quiet.’

‘Christmas?’ Belvina Burke frowned. ‘Oh, all right, then. Mind you don’t set the house ablaze with candles in the tree.’

‘We don’t have a tree,’ Regulus pointed out helpfully, but Sirius was already dragging him by the arm down the corridor to the other end of the stairs.

‘Shh,’ his brother warned.

‘But we _don’t_ have.’

‘She doesn’t care.’ They repeated their spiral down another flight. ‘Now, quiet. Mother’s room.’ He held a finger to his lips, set his jaw and proceeded with measured paces past the closed door to their mother’s chamber. In three careful steps, Sirius reached the other side and motioned for Regulus to follow. 

Reg tested the floor, trying to put his weight in just the places where Sirius had walked. Too close to the banister and the boards would creak; too close to the wall and the loose sconce would rattle and bounce, which would jostle Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather Igneus’s miniature portrait and cause him to startle. He held his breath and crept forward. He kept his gaze fixed on the rug, focusing on the little stars dotted inside the lattice lines that cut beige diamonds into the dark green. Just as he crossed from one section of the diamond-pattern to the next, Mother’s door opened. Sirius gasped; Reg froze. 

He didn’t dare look up until a large, warm hand touched his shoulder. ‘Happy Christmas, boys,’ Father said softly. He was also wearing a dressing gown and slippers, but over a loose-fitting pair of braes. A triangle of his bare chest showed where the dressing gown was not quite closed.

Both of them muttered back, ‘Happy Christmas, Father.’

‘Going to peek at your presents?’

Sirius spoke up quietly but surely. ‘No, sir. We thought we’d go to the kitchen.’

‘The kitchen? What for?’ Father sounded as if he weren’t even certain where their kitchen was, let alone had ever been in it.

‘So Kreach--’

‘Hot chocolate,’ Sirius answered. He took Regulus’s hand and squeezed it to make sure that Reg said nothing more.

Father had shut Mother’s door silently. Now he led them both away, but not to the stairs heading down. He was guiding them back to the foot of the stair leading up. ‘I suppose a cup of cocoa can’t hurt once in a while. But why go down? Have Kreacher bring it to you upstairs.’ He sat on the steps to come to eye-level with them. ‘Unless you’re hoping for your treat while having a look at the presents in the drawing room?’

‘We _weren’t_ going to look at the presents, though,’ Regulus insisted. He tried not to whine but it came out anyway.

‘Then why were you going downstairs? And don’t lie,’ Father said to Regulus, with a sidelong glance at Sirius as if to say he didn’t think the truth lived in him.

‘Well, we’re going to Blackmoor Park for luncheon,’ Regulus explained.

‘I’m aware of that,’ Father said drily. ‘It does not answer my question.’

‘We thought we’d get Kreacher to make us biscuits to bring as a present to Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus, and Cousin Cissa and all,’ Regulus said.

‘So you thought you’d set him to baking for you instead of fixing our breakfast?’ Father clarified.

‘In addition to, sir,’ Sirius admitted. ‘Reg wanted--that is, we thought.... It wouldn’t be that difficult for him.’

Father sighed. ‘What kind of biscuits?’ he asked after a moment.

Sirius shrugged. ‘Different kinds, maybe? The kind with a bit of icing on?’

Reg muttered.

‘What, son?’ Father asked, drawing him closer. 

‘Ginger snaps,’ Regulus said again.

‘Ginger snaps with icing on?’ Father prompted.

It was Reg’s turn to shrug. ‘Not necessarily,’ he said.

The rest of Father’s face remained stony, but one corner of his mouth twitched. He lifted Reg onto his hip as he stood up, took Sirius by the hand and climbed the stairs. When he reached the foot of the next flight, he set Regulus down on the second stair. It had only been a few steps, and it was in the wrong direction, but Regulus couldn’t help looking at Sirius with something like pride, even though they were about to be denied, and he knew it.

‘Blacks don’t need to go into kitchens. As far as you’re concerned, food just appears because you _tell_ it to do. Now, back in your rooms,’ Father said, pointing upward. ‘Breakfast in...two hours. Then it’s off to Blackmoor Park.’

He looked at Sirius again, then crossed the corridor to open his study. A moment later, the door shut quietly. They could only go back upstairs, now, for he would hear them if they did not. Sure enough, when they did not move, they heard Father clear his throat a moment later. They ascended.

Reg shrugged at Sirius on the landing separating their rooms. ‘Well, guess that’s that.’

Sirius was biting his lower lip, as he often did when thinking. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. Then: ‘Kreacher.’

With a soft popping sound, the elf appeared between the boys. ‘Yes, Master Sirius,’ he said cautiously.

‘We’d like to bring ginger snaps with us to Uncle Cygnus’s. Make us some.’

Kreacher cocked his head at Sirius for a moment. Then he cast a fleeting glance down, through the slats of the banister, toward Father’s office door. He looked at Reg, who stood with a hopeful expression.

‘Yes, Master Sirius,’ Kreacher said momentarily. With a bow, he dissappeared.

Sirius grinned at Reg. ‘There you go. Can I go back to bed now?’

‘I can’t believe that worked,’ Reg said.

‘I think... I think Father told him it would be all right, so long as we _ordered_ him to make them and didn’t go down belowstairs like beggars.’

‘Oh.’ Regulus thought about Kreacher’s look toward the study. Father certainly had had time to summon Kreacher and give him permission to bake if ordered, before Sirius did just that. It was one of Father’s tests.

Sirius was turning the knob of his door.

‘But I _like_ the kitchen,’ Regulus said aloud.

‘What’s more important? The kitchen or the biscuits?’ Sirius asked him.

‘The biscuits!’ they said together.

*

The advantage of Christmas at Blackmoor Park was that Aunt Druella was altogether jollier than Mother and there was no shortage of cheer in the big house. They did have a tree, a large one, which dwarfs had cut down from the parklands and brought to the big ballroom. Fairy lights and tinsel and little trilling ornaments decorated the branches. Underneath were numerous parcels for everyone. 

Regulus was allowed to present the platter of biscuits to Aunt Druella, who smiled over it and motioned with her wand to float it over to the sideboard. ‘We shall save those for later,’ she told Regulus, as if aware what a great treat it would be to share them round.

He and Sirius next hurried to the tree to find all their packages. Sirius hid one of Bella’s under the chaise. Reg sorted the rest all into piles: His, Sirius’s, Father’s, Mother’s, Narcissa’s, and so on. Cissy had the highest number of boxes, Reg noticed, but many were small. Whereas he and Sirius both had very large parcels awaiting them.

‘Regulus Arcturus, come away from there,’ Mother said. He hastily replaced the biggest of his presents beside his neat little pile and ran to Mother’s side. Mother placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and kept talking to Uncle Cygnus. 

‘Let the boy look,’ Uncle Cygnus said indulgently. 

‘As if you’ve ever shown restraint yourself, at Christmas,’ Mother said with a disdainful sniff. Her eye swept around the room: stockings, tinsel, lights and striped peppermint canes adorned the mantel, windowsills and even the molding ‘round the ceiling.

‘Luncheon will be ready in ten minutes,’ Aunt Druella told them as she joined Uncle Cygnus and they linked arms. ‘Walburga, would you care for a glass of sherry to start?’

They drifted back into the enormous sitting room. Regulus ducked out of Mother’s grasp but instead of rushing back to the piles of gifts, he ran down the central corridor to the dining room to see if he could sneak a ginger snap before lunch.

The platter was gone. The sideboard was empty.

Frowning, Reg returned to the corridor and this time went to the very back, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark stairwell.

He placed his foot on the first step; shifted his weight. He looked down at the shaft of light shed by the corridor above. He could still hear them all talking so no one had noticed his absence yet. The stairs looked steep. 

‘Reg, what are you doing?’ 

Cissy’s voice startled him and he slipped forward. He clutched the railing and for a moment, he thought he might slide all the way down into the darkness. But Cissy had her wand in one hand and caught his arm in the other and pulled him back onto the parquay tiled floor of the corridor.

‘Careful!’ she said rather unnecessarily. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘I wanted to see the kitchen,’ Reg told her.

Cissy sniffed. ‘What for?’

‘We brought biscuits and they’re gone. I wanted to find out what your elves did with them.’

‘They probably just wanted to put them on a different platter, or wait to bring them up with the pudding, Reg. Anyway, why do you care? They’re just biscuits. We’re having pies and cakes and puff pastries with cream.’ She tossed her hair. ‘I’m going to stuff myself and make Andi furious. She can’t eat like that or it’ll go straight to her hips. Come _along_ ,’ she continued, threading her arm through his like her parents had done.

‘Where?’

‘I’ve learned a new hex and we’ve just time to try it.’

Reg pulled away. ‘What sort of hex?’

‘The sort that’ll make you laugh later. Come along,’ Cissy demanded.

‘I don’t want to be hexed,’ Reg whined.

‘Then we’ll try it on Sirius,’ Cissy answered with an unconcerned shrug. ‘You can distract him and I’ll hex him.’

‘There you are,’ Bella said, bearing down on them with her usual determination. ‘Mother says to come sit down.’

‘Oh, bother,’ Cissy huffed. She looked at Reg. ‘After luncheon, then.’

Luncheon passed pleasantly enough, though Reg had to hide his sprouts by stuffing them among the bones of his goose leg. As usual, though, no one really paid him much mind while they were being served, so he was able to have as much mash as he wanted. At the end of the meal, there were enormous crackers with hats that showered them in sparklers and sang snatches of Christmas carols. Bellatrix tried to avoid opening her cracker until Uncle Cygnus teased her into it; it opened in a burst of streamers in every colour of the rainbow and out sprang a hat in the shape of a monkey. Even Mother laughed when the monkey screeched and stole a tangerine before running down the length of the table to climb onto the chandelier.

After lunch, they were finally allowed to go back to the parlour and open their presents. Reg and Cissy took charge of passing out the gifts and deciding who should open each parcel in what order. Soon they each had a pile of treasures around them and were down to the last presents. Father’s was a cloak; Mother’s a new herbalism book she had been wanting and a silver potting trowel; Sirius’ extra-large package turned out to be a racing broom; Regulus’ was a deluxe builders’ set that could make a castle, train station, small city or any number of other scenes. There were pieces with push-activated spells that made steam rise from chimneys and smokestacks, raise and lower the drawbridges or city gates and make the train run on its track. It also had little figures who could be made to run round as if working.

Finally, after the presents had been packaged up to go home in neat little bundles, AuntElla said it was time for pudding. They went back to the dining room, which had been reset with fresh china, and Regulus scanned the sideboard. There, nestled between the mince pie and the cream buns, on a red painted tray, were the perfect, flat discs of the ginger snaps.

Regulus let Andi cut him a small slice of pumpkin pie and a slightly larger piece of chocolate cake. Then he helped himself to three ginger snaps and two cream buns. He pointed the platter out to Sirius, who nodded at him indulgently and also took two biscuits.

By the end of dessert, as Mother, Father, Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella were lingering over their port and tea, Regulus began to feel very tired and overstuffed. He asked if he and Sirius could be excused, which resulted in all of them being told to go along. He could tell Sirius was just as happy to escape the dining table with its stiff-backed chairs and go back to the parlour.

‘I can’t believe they actually gave me a racing broom!’ Sirius said excitedly as Reg flopped onto a sofa.

Reg yawned, not because he thought a racing broom boring but because he was suddenly so very exhausted. Sirius knelt by the fire to add another log and poke at the coals with the poker. Reg’s eyes fluttered closed.

When he woke, he was in his own bedroom and it was dark outside. He lay still for a few moments, thinking about the day and deciding whether he felt fully awake, hungry, ready to play with his new toys, or otherwise in need of any particular assistance. Kreacher must have changed him out of his robes and into his nightgown, because he was tucked up in bed for the night already, but he decided he had slept enough.

He sat up, flipped over and reached down for his slippers. They were further to reach than he expected; he over-balanced and fell out of the bed. Hissing at a fresh brush-burn on his elbow, he picked himself up and shoved the slippers on his feet. Then he crossed the landing and knocked on Sirius’ door.

Sirius didn’t answer. Reg turned the knob experimentally. The door swung in and he could see Sirius’ form in the bed in a shaft of moonlight. Unperturbed, Reg came inside, shut the door quietly and crawled up onto his brother’s bed.

‘Mmf,’ Sirius protested weakly. He muttered something unintelligible that Reg thought might have been ‘Go play with your new toys’ or it could have been ‘We’re playing Lost Boys.’

‘It was a good Christmas, wasn’t it?’ Reg asked softly. 

Sirius muttered into his pillow. This time Reg couldn’t understand anything.

‘I guess I fell asleep. Where’s your broom?’

‘Downstairs and no, you can’t have a go,’ Sirius said, finally managing a coherent sentence.

‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ Reg lied. ‘We missed supper.’

‘You missed supper. Mother and Father and I had some soup after we came home.’

‘Oh.’ Reg’s stomach rumbled. Soup didn’t sound appealing, though. In a flash, he remembered the red painted platter. ‘I suppose Mother didn’t ask for our biscuits, did she?’

Sirius turned over. ‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘Merlin’s sake, Goblin. They’re just biscuits.’

‘Biscuits Mother doesn’t like, though,’ Reg pointed out.

‘Yeah.’ Sirius punched his pillow and burrowed into it. Reg said nothing else. He didn’t have to say that it might be ages before he could cajole Kreacher into making more. 

After a full minute, Sirius sighed. ‘Still here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Still upset about your stupid biscuits?’

Reg scowled but very sheepishly he said, ‘Yes.’

‘Huh. Better go check my cloak pocket, then,’ Sirius told him.

‘What?’ Reg asked, but he clambered off the bed without waiting for an answer. He clicked on the light over Sirius’s complaint and picked Sirius’s cloak off the floor. In the pockets were several cloth napkins, each wrapped around three or four little ginger snaps. They weren’t even all that crumbled. He looked back at the bed, where Sirius had sat up and was grinning at him.

‘You--’

‘I figured you’d be disappointed if we didn’t bring them home and I knew they’d forget,’ his brother explained. ‘So when they were bundling you up I went to the kitchen and nicked them back.’

‘You stole them from AuntElla’s elves?’

Sirius shrugged. ‘They’re just biscuits, Goblin, it’s not like the elves wanted them. Just don’t tell Father I went to the kitchen, all right?’

Reg nodded vigorously, still staring at the bounty.

Sirius laughed, his barking, quick and derisive sort of laugh. ‘Well, bring them over. Let’s have them, then.’

Regulus carried the napkins over to the bed and handed them to Sirius, who spread the napkins over the coverlet. Then Reg scrambled back up next to him and they split the lot. It was the best part of the whole of Christmas Day.


End file.
